


The Gift of Mercy

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - General [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Temptation, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from lifeisacollage40.tumblr.com:</p><p>Dorian very touched and grateful that the Inquisitor sentenced Alexius to magical research and wants to do something for special for mTrevelyan since they’re together</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Mercy

“Did you hear the news?” 

Dorian didn’t quite turn his head, pretending to peruse the bookshelf in front of him with his full attention. Considering the man whispering to Fiona had come running up the stairs at full tilt from the main room - and knowing what, precisely, was scheduled to happen this morning - Dorian had a suspicion about what the man was going to tell the leader of the mages.

“What is the sentence?” Fiona said quietly. Dorian could almost feel her gaze touch him, but he just pulled out a book and idly flipped through the pages before pausing to pretend to read a specific passage.

“Not execution.” The man sounded incredulous. “After all that bastard tried to do to us...”

 _Not dead._ A wave of relief swept through Dorian. He knew how Alexius Gereon must look to everyone in Skyhold: a power-hungry, corrupt Magister who’d seen a chance to take over the world and seized it with two grasping hands. That’s certainly how gossip painted him, with the inevitable sidelong glances directed towards Dorian with that weighted addition of _All Tevinter mages only want power in the end._ He’d expected that, though - just as he’d expected Alexius to be executed outright.

Fiona sighed. “The Inquisitor is a merciful man,” she reminded her friend. “He could have enslaved us as easily as Alexius did, and for the same reason. Instead he took us into the Inquisition as equals. So, not death. Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected.”

“That’s just it, it’s more than just no execution. He’s going to be allowed to research magic, of all things!” The man shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

Dorian didn’t hear Fiona’s reply, instead slowly closing the book and returning it to its place on the shelf. _Allowed to research magic._ Trevelyan’s mercy had been far more generous than Dorian could have dared hope. His eyes stole to the stairwell leading down to the main hall, brow furrowing slightly as that worry returned. He knew the gossipers would blame _him_ for the Inquisitor’s largesse, but... honestly, at this moment, Dorian didn’t care. One of the most brilliant men he knew was going to live and research magic. Surely the Inquisition could only benefit from such an arrangement.

And surely Dorian could think of a special way to show his appreciation. _Preferably in private,_ he mentally added as he felt more eyes seek him out as word of the decision spread.

* * *

* * *

Maxwell sagged into the chair next to Josephine’s desk and let his head fall back against the chair. “Well, that went over about as well as can be expected.”

Her glance let him know that she had little sympathy with his complaining. “You must have known what the reaction would be,” she pointed out. “A Tevinter Magister known to have worked with forbidden magic, assigned to research _more_ forbidden magic by the Inquisition? And before you tell me it wasn’t specifically forbidden,” she added, holding up a finger, “might I remind you that to most people in Thedas, _any_ magic is forbidden. You yourself are now an apostate, regardless of your history - a fact our allies very kindly overlook due to circumstance.”

“I am well aware of that fact. _Josie.”_ He grinned when she glared at him. “But the fact remains we _need_ people like him, researching magic that no one else can, or will, look into. Corypheus is too much of a wild card to--”

“I know, Inquisitor.” Her face softened, but her tone did not. “I can see the sense of it, but you must realize it will not be a popular decision.” She paused, obviously considering whether or not to continue.

“Before you mention him, Dorian had _nothing_ to do with this decision,” Maxwell said in a weary voice.

Josephine smiled, expression a little sad. “Again, I know, Inquisitor. We simply need to consider how to ensure that everyone else _doesn’t_ think he did.”

With a grimace, Maxwell nodded. Giselle had only been one voice, the one who spoke up because she and Maxwell had had cordial relations. _Used to,_ anyway. “I’ll deal with the fallout. Maybe close a few rifts near some rich nobles’ estates or some such. It’ll work out.” Ignoring Josephine’s little sigh at his unbridled optimism, he stood and stretched. “Now, if you don’t need anything else from me?”

“You’ve done enough damage for today,” she told him with acerbity, turning her eyes down to the pile of papers on her desk. “I was going to discuss the Trevelyan situation with you, but... well, perhaps that can wait.”

“That can _definitely_ wait,” Maxwell grumped. “That can wait _forever,_ so far as I’m concerned.”

“We will need to address the problem at some point,” Josephine said crisply.

“Maybe when man walks in the Fade again,” he muttered, then caught Josephine’s glare and sighed. “Fine. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Promise?” she asked, one eyebrow rising.

“Promise,” he said in a resigned tone of voice.

“Good. Have fun, Inquisitor.”

He gave her an elegant bow. Not even a mob could ever make Maxwell Trevelyan neglect that most basic of manners around a lady. “Have a good day, Lady Josephine.”

As he walked away, though, his thoughts returned to the matter more closely at hand. As he entered the main hall of Skyhold, the talking ceased for a moment, then emerged again as muted murmuring and hushed whispers as he walked across the hall to the door which, as everyone knew full well, would take him to the library. The knowing looks he was used to, but he remembered his mother’s lessons enough to recognize the _other_ glances he was receiving. _Dammit, I hate it when Dorian’s right._ Especially about this. Who Dorian was, what he was perceived to be by the rest of Thedas when it came to the Inquisitor,  _shouldn’t_ matter. It didn’t matter to Maxwell, really, but it _did_ matter to Dorian, and to Josephine, and to Leliana.

In the end, though, Maxwell just wanted to be near Dorian, damn the consequences. He knew his father would be rolling in his grave, if he were dead, and rolling his eyes otherwise if he knew.

His thoughts continued running around in that particular circle as he continued walking, giving Solas an absent nod of greeting as he passed through the rotunda. The elf was busy painting, too busy to give a nod back, but Maxwell didn’t mind. His attention was all on the meeting to come. Thus, he was a bit nonplussed when he got to the familiar little niche in the library, and found no one there.

 _Hmm. Awkward._ Ignoring Fiona’s subtle attempts to get his attention, he stepped into the niche and looked for some clue to Dorian’s whereabouts. _Hopefully he’s not at the tavern._ He knew that Dorian knew Alexius’ sentencing was scheduled for today, and also knew Dorian was braced for the worst. A few moments’ scrutiny of Dorian’s chair, however, revealed a small piece of paper, intricately folded, with an elegant _I_ written on it. With a smile, he unfolded the letter and held it up to the window so the light would fall on it.

_Inquisitor, if you would be so kind as to meet me in the study in the basement, I would be most appreciative._

Maxwell’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t realized anyone besides himself even knew that little room full of old, dusty books was down there. He’d only found it because he’d literally tripped and fallen into the door, hidden behind a moldy old tapestry and some wooden beams leaning against the wall. Still... _If there’s a book anywhere, Dorian could sniff it out._

Intrigued, Maxwell tucked the note into his pocket and turned, heading towards his new destination.

* * *

* * *

When the door to the study opened, Dorian forced himself to stop pacing the space between the door and the desk and turn to greet Maxwell. “Ah, you found my note!” he said with a jovial tone. “And here I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come looking for me.” He hadn’t, of course, not _really._ Maxwell would know that Dorian would have heard about the sentencing, would have wanted to speak with the Inquisitor. It’s why Dorian had felt confident enough to leave the note in the first place.

Confident in _that_ , at least.

“I did indeed,” Maxwell said with a little bow. “I even managed to make it all the way here without tripping or falling over anything in my haste. You should be proud.”

“Extraordinarily so!” Dorian marveled. “It must be because you’re not letting yourself to wear those atrocious southern Circle robes anymore.”

Maxwell laughed as he stepped closer to Dorian, reaching out to set one hand on the other mage’s hip. “Oh, trust me, those robes had _some_ advantages.” His eyes gleamed for a moment, but then he simply smiled and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Dorian’s cheek. After a final pat on Dorian’s hip, Maxwell pressed past him in the tight space between the bookshelves and headed deeper into the study. “I had no idea you even knew about this place,” he commented.

Dorian didn’t turn around immediately. He was too busy recovering from the images in his mind after Maxwell, _curse the man,_ had planted the concept of the _advantages of a mage robe_ in his mind. Clearing his throat, he finally managed to turn around and reply, “Ah, yes, the study. Even I leave the library sometimes, you know, and Skyhold is large, but not excessively so. I found it quite by accident while... ah...” His voice trailed off, and Maxwell turned to look at him sharply.

“Dorian?” he said softly.

“It’s nothing,” Dorian said with a laugh, quickly recovering. He didn’t really want to admit that he’d only found the study because he’d been looking for a way to avoid some rather _patriotic_ Orlesian-born soldiers who had muttered something about _the Tevinter mage being too pretty for his own good._ “At any rate, once I found this place, I could tell you came here frequently.” He quickly moved past Maxwell, to give himself time to recover from his momentary slip, and picked up the journal bound in dragon webbing resting on the desk. “I only know one man who had a master smith make a journal for him out of the parts of the dragon he killed.”

Maxwell grinned as he stepped forward to take the volume from Dorian’s hand. “Herren was more irritated than Wade, I think. But then, from what Leliana said, that’s Herren’s natural state of being.”

“Indeed it is,” Dorian chuckled, then dared to reach out and settle his hand on Maxwell’s in a show of feeling the ridged surface of the webbing. “And mine, some would argue.”

“Not I,” Maxwell said softly, and curled his fingers around Dorian’s hand.

Dorian bit his lower lip, then looked up at Maxwell. Again he found himself pulled in by the man’s dark brown eyes, so clear and strong and... and unlike anyone he’d met before. Even Rie--

Interrupting his own thoughts with a cough, Dorian withdrew his hand and offered a brilliant smile to Maxwell. “And who am I to tell the all might Inquisitor that he’s wrong, hmm?” he said with a forced laugh.

“What is this about, Dorian?” Maxwell asked as he stretched out his arm and set the journal on the desk once more. His expression grew serious. “Is this about my judgment today? I’m sure you’ve heard by now.”

Sobering quickly, Dorian nodded. “Ah, yes. I’m told you have Alexius researching magic for you?” Not waiting for Maxwell to answer, he hurried on. “Research is always what made him happiest. Perhaps I’ll even go talk to him, eventually.” Unable to resist, Dorian added, “One word of advice: if he suggests altering time as a way to solve all your problems, give it a pass.”

Maxwell laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. My memory isn’t so _very_ short, you know.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Dorian said airily. “Then why do you keep a journal?”

The other man just smiled mysteriously. “So you didn’t open it, then.”

“Of course not!” Dorian said, indignant. “Why on Thedas would I do such a thing?” _Damn the man._ He knew Dorian well enough by now to suspect that such a comment would torment the Tevinter mage with the temptation to know what _did_ lie between those orange webbed covers. “I _value_ others’ privacy, you know. Unlike _some.”_ He sent a mock glare to Maxwell, even as his hand crept down to one of the book holders dangling from his belt.

“If you’re referring to the time I caught you bathing in the Emerald Graves,” Maxwell said with aplomb, “I could hardly know you were there if you were cavorting underwater when I walked up.”

 _“Cavorting,_ he says, as if I were some kind of sea creature!” Dorian huffed. “Well, you certainly got an eyeful before you left, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Maxwell said with a grin, his gaze traveling up and down the body of the man in front of him.

 _Damn the man!_ Dorian pretended to indignation, of course, and before Maxwell could act on that gleam in his eyes, Dorian hurriedly pulled out the small book he’d reached for and thrust it towards Maxwell. “At any rate, I wanted to thank you and give you this,” he said in a voice he _hoped_ didn’t sound too hurried.

Maxwell looked down in surprise as he took the book from Dorian. “And this is... not in Trade Speech,” he noted as he flipped through the book. “You’re testing my rudimentary knowledge of your language, aren’t you?”

“It’s mostly equations and such,” Dorian pointed out, stepping closer so he could flip through the pages to point to some of them.

After scrutinizing the book for a few moments, Maxwell looked up at Dorian. “These are all handwritten, and by two different hands. What is this, Dorian?”

“Oh,” Dorian said with a dismissive little gesture, “it’s one of my journals from when I first started studying with Alexius. There’s quite a bit of fascinating magical theory in there. I thought you might like it.”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Dorian grew nervous. _Can Maxwell tell how important this little book is to me?_ Dorian suddenly wondered. Oh, the endless nights Dorian had poured into that handmade, leatherbound volume, and the hours he’d spent loudly and passionately debating its contents with Alexius and, later, Felix. To be Tevinter was to know passion, after all. Maxwell simply roused a very _different_ kind of passion within Dorian.

Licking his lips when Maxwell still didn’t speak after several more seconds, he said, nervous enough to start sweating any moment, “That’s... all right, isn’t it?”

Reaching up to cup Dorian’s cheek, Maxwell smiled gently, moving a bit closer to Dorian. “It’s more than all right, Dorian. Thank you. I will treasure this.”

Dorian smiled, tentative at first before it grew. When the intensity suddenly grew to be too much, he laughed and said, “Well, good. It contains my brilliance. Of course you’ll treasure it. You’ll probably learn quite a bit yourself along the way, as a matter of fact.”

“That does mean I’ll have to learn to read that language of yours,” Maxwell pointed out.

“Well, of cou-- _Kaffas!”_ Dorian exclaimed, taken completely by surprise as Maxwell abruptly sat down in the oversized chair and pulled Dorian down to straddle him. “Inquisitor, what--?”

Maxwell put a finger on his lips, then pulled Dorian closer. “You’re going to teach me your tongue,” he said softly as he brought their heads together. “So, here’s how we’re going to do this: you say a word, and I’ll repeat it back. So to start, how do you say hello?”

Dorian licked his lips slowly. _“Avanna.”_

 _“Avanna,”_ Maxwell repeated.  Their lips were so close that Dorian could feel Maxwell’s hot breath caress his teeth and tongue. “Now what about goodbye?”

 _“Vitae benefaris,”_ Dorian murmured. This time he felt their lips brush each other as they spoke, and he trembled. He also felt Maxwell’s mouth curve into a smile, but before Maxwell actually repeated the words back, Dorian added in a whisper, “But those are not words I want to hear from you.”

Maxwell smiled. His hand stroked up Dorian’s back to land at the nape of the man’s neck, and he pulled Dorian gently into a long, languorous kiss.

Dorian moaned softly, his hips pressing in against Maxwell’s torso, and when Maxwell finally ended the kiss, Dorian knew his lips were reddened. “This is... an excellent place to study,” Dorian managed to murmur.

“Every day, if need be,” Maxwell murmured in agreement.

“And possibly some nights.” _What am I saying? What if he doesn’t want me to-_ The thought fluttered away like a butterfly on the wind as Maxwell’s lips found his once more.

 _Damn the man,_ he thought weakly. _I can’t resist for much longer._

Suddenly, all the reasons to hold back - his undue influence over the Inquisitor, his status as a pariah, his unwelcome heritage as a Tevinter mage in the land of the southern Chantry - all of that just seemed to melt away, and it was just him and Maxwell.

Dorian and his _Amatus._ When their lips parted, Dorian stared at Maxwell with shining eyes, his mouth moving soundlessly as he tried to say the word - and failed.

Maxwell chuckled, misinterpreting Dorian’s struggle. “You, speechless? I’ll have to write this down in my journal,” he teased.

“As well you should,” Dorian retorted. “I am usually never at a loss for words.”

“Except around me,” Maxwell said with a grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” Dorian retorted. The banter made it easier to withdraw again, to hide behind his smile and the mask for a little while longer, to keep the hope alive that Maxwell might want him _after..._ Smile firmly back in place, Dorian wiggled back and stood. “Alas, I cannot claim too much of the Inquisitor’s time, can I? Just let me know when you wish to have another language lesson, and I shall be happy to oblige.”

Maxwell nodded. “As you wish.” With a final wink and light kiss on Dorian’s cheek, Maxwell tucked the book Dorian had given him into a pocket of his tunic and walked past Dorian to the door. “Until our next tongue lesson, then.”

 _“Language_ le--” Dorian began, then sighed as the door closed behind Maxwell. _Damn the man._

For a moment, he looked at the journal on the desk with its bright orange cover. For a moment, he considered giving in to the temptation of reading the Inquisitor’s personal thoughts, to see what - or  _who_ \- the Inquisitor wrote about, there in the pages he thought no one would ever see. But then the moment passed with a shake of his head, and Dorian walked briskly from the private little study.

_Later. After I know whether or not he still wants me._


End file.
